


One Month to Ink the Soul

by Aura_Creed



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: But if a characters labeled they will have a substantial appearance beyond just a name drop., Gen, If a chapter gets a rating higher then G I will mark the fic as such, Tags will be updated as more chapters are added., The ink demonth, and label the chapter in question right before you read it so you're aware what's in it, because this is a collection of one shots not every character/tag is going to apply to every chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-06-02 10:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19439305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aura_Creed/pseuds/Aura_Creed
Summary: A collection of one-shots centered around Halfu's InkDemonth event for July 2019.You can find the details on Halfu's tumblr post, here.Each chapter will have it's own summary inside, the first will also have my personal rules for the oneshots.





	1. Music

**Author's Note:**

> Nostalgia was a powerful motivator. Henry would learn quickly to not let himself dwell on it.
> 
> __
> 
> This chapter is a collab with the artist, Valonide. They created a character called 'The Siren' for this part of InkDemonth. There's going to be more chapter collabs with them as the month goes on. I'll make it known in each chapter accordingly.
> 
> [We also did an audio version of this chapter.](https://youtu.be/DMMKdXSfb14) Consider it a first day bonus (and don't expect anymore for the rest of the month).
> 
> There is also a song linked in this chapter. If for some reason the link ever breaks, or the video gets removed, know that it's "When Summer is Gone" (Harrison & Whittle) performed by Jack Hylton.
> 
> My goal is to do 1k words per chapter. If I do less in one (minimum 500 words), I'll pick it up in another. At the end this whole collection should be 31k+ words. It's also my personal goal to stick to the BATIM universe and only do AU's tied more directly to canon as opposed to, say, doing super out of this world AU's (like Bendy and Boris and the Quest for the Ink Machine) minus the days where said AU's are the basis of the day, or the crossover day. Or the free day. Or the OC day, maybe. We'll get there. 
> 
> If the link ever breaks to the information about Ink Demonth, comment or let me know somehow (if I don't catch it) and I'll stick up a backup post I have saved on my own blog.

Nostalgia was a powerful motivator. Even as a child Henry remembered his parents yearning for the old days, cursing paper as a medium. For a time when paper was new and cheaper than chalk, it helped Henry learn how to draw. He never understood why older people would fight back against something that was so helpful, and yet he still remembered his parents showing him how to clean a slate, how to clean off all the dust the chalk would create, and most importantly how to clean out the chalk erasers.  
  
He never understood the point to it all. Not until he returned to the old studio. Not until he’d spent days mucking through the depths, falling through floorboards, fighting monstrosities. At times he found a few old doodles or a couple of posters. Episodes he remembered so fondly working on back in the good ole days. Memories he’d smile at. Memories he wished were still real and true.  
  
He remembered very clearly finding an old tape of his in a room right before it flooded. The only one he remembered recording with Linda, at home, before bringing it into work with him the next day. A reminder of who he was working to support, when the image of the studio was falling apart for him. When Joey was working them all to the bone.  
  
Henry wouldn’t consider himself a cryer but he cried long and hard that day. It only steeled his resolve to keep going farther in, even as his chances of getting back up somehow kept dwindling. Even as the studio threatened to collapse in on itself, to bury him down there alive. All of it to finish this and find a way out -- to get back to her.  
  
It had probably been about a month in when he had heard the music playing. He tensed, wary as the melody started up. It was distant -- distant enough to barely be able to make out what it was. He had just been on the verge of some stairs that spiraled downward into the studio when it had happened. He was understandably alert. After the music department he had been wary of any and all music. Even though he feared the worst for Sammy, if he had somehow still been alive…  
  
But this wasn’t a banjo that had been playing, the only instrument he’d seen the former man carry around. He walked back, fingers curling over the edge of the doorway as he peered back out into the halls.  
  
It sounded like an old gramophone. The crackle of a record, the [ static of a song ](https://youtu.be/d8UE4R_5o9c?t=26) . A song he hadn’t heard for ages, not since after he’d left the studio. It wasn’t one even remotely related to Bendy or anything Joey Drew had ever endorsed, and yet it played anyway. He could barely hear the lyrics from where he was standing, yet the beat was enough to get him to start humming. To feel the vibration in his bones. To remember sitting by the fire on a cold winter evening. Listening to records and reading a book. He remembered sharing these moments with Linda, with his family too, when he was a child. It warmed his heart, made him think of happier times.  
  
It carried his feet away from the stairs and closer to the sound. He hesitated, approaching a hallway away from where he’d originally come from. It was flooded with ink. A frown creased his brows. He’d specifically avoided this path because of the ink, but the tune kept playing, ever closer. With a sigh, he trudged on. If only he could get close enough to hear the lyrics… Just a few...  
  
A chair was at the three way crossroad down the halls. Closed doors were scattered to either side as he moved towards it. Henry sat down. It was close, close enough to where he could hear the faint ghostings of a voice. “Don’t tell me again, love is not in vain,” Henry spoke under his breath, singing along, “that it will remain here, when summer is gone.”  
  
He stayed like this for a time. Enjoying what he could hear from the gramophone. His foot was tapping before he stood up. It was a good break, but he needed to get moving. He paused when the lyrics looped, a thought dawning on him then. When had the record been reset?  
  
Then another thought encroached upon his mind, his heart stilling in his chest at the thought. How long had the lyrics been that clear? Eyes widened as they looked down the hall, the music echoing across the walls. 

  
Ink splashed as a clawed hand gripped the corner. The horn of a gramophone turned to face him. It was tarnished and mottled in black spots. Oozing and pulsing, tubes went in and out of the ink of its body, wrapping down to the floor. It stained the ground as it trudged onward, an inky tail bending and pushing it forward, like a slug.  
  
Henry took a single step back. It stilled. His heartbeat was in his ears. The song, crisp and clear, continued to play even as it screamed. Its body coiled up, springing forward as its clawed hand gripped at the walls. Anything to try and push forward faster with its handicap. Henry took off in a sprint down the opposite direction, hobbling as fast as he could with a limp and an axe gripped in his hand.  
  
He had been lured in. He didn’t know why this thing had lured him, but it had, and he’d fallen for it. In a single notion of gaining some semblance of hope from nostalgia and an old dream, he’d run into a monster. Not like the Butcher gang, no -- but like the projectionist. A single trip down memory lane and it might get him killed. The lyrics knelled again.  
  
_If love's like a rose, that blossoms and grows,_

_Then withers and goes dear, when summer is gone._


	2. Growth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time, before the studio went to hell, the Ink Demon was given a plant.

The main light was suddenly turned on in the dead center of the Ink Machine. All around and on the walls the screens were already lit up, playing the same cartoons over and over.  
  
“Hey, uh, Bendy,” Thomas Connor was standing by the entrance. He hesitated for a moment before walking in. “Got you something.”  
  
The demon’s ink covered face followed him as he walked over to the opposite side of the room away from where he was sitting and set the pot down. The demon tilted his head.  
  
“This is.. Or er… I don’t really know what it is, to be fair.” Thomas scratched his head. “Popped out of the Ink Machine. A pot. A flower pot? I don’t know. It’s cartoony, and it’s not worth showing to Joey. Figured you might want a… a toy, or somethin.” Thomas could feel the eyes practically digging under his skin and he shook his head. “Take it or leave it, I don’t care. You’ve been on good behavior so far since the last escapade. Consider this a treat or something.” He walked back towards the door. “Just don’t do anything stupid and I won’t take it back, ya hear?” And with that the big metal door fell back down, locking into place. Once again, he was alone.  
  
He stood up, ink dripping, as he made his way over to the pot. It was full of dirt but otherwise empty, and he crouched down beside it, head tilting back and forth. He picked it up, poking at it. The dirt crunched before solidifying and springing his hand back out of the pot. The demon jumped a bit before holding it with both hands, staring, staring. Ink dripped into the dirt and a little sprout formed, two little leaves poking out of the dirt. His perpetual grin widened.  
  
__  
  
“How many times do I have to tell you, Mr. Connor?” Joey Drew swiveled around in his chair, finger tips tapping together, elbows on the desk. “You need to stop visiting it!”  
  
“Kinda hard considering he’s, ya know, in the main Ink Machine.”  
  
“I understand that but you don’t need to go into that room but you do anyway!” Joey sighed, pushing his chair back. “Look, we don’t know what that things capable of. After its last roam around the halls I’ve had to take legal action to silence the sceptics and prevent the investors from finding out about our… failed attempts.”  
  
Thomas frowned. “With all due respect Mr. Drew, all he did was stare at the posters and wave at the first employee he saw.”  
  
“Said employee has now quit and is seeking a court order. You can never be too careful -- I’ve had our lawyers prepare a non-disclosure agreement and had it sent to his doorstep this morning. If he doesn’t sign, well… We’ll get there.”  
  
“I wasn’t even aware we had enough money for lawyers.”  
  
“Hush hush of course we do! Now,” Joey walked over, putting a hand on Thomas’s shoulder as he guided him out of the office. “About that perfect Bendy…”  
  
__  
  
Thomas was scratching his head, paper in hand. Once again he was looking over the schematics, trying to figure out what kept going wrong, what needed to be tweaked. Of course the machine worked fine -- pumped ink throughout the studio, annoyed everybody, and it could clearly perform acts of black magic, but it apparently had to act like it was more than God on top of that. He rolled his eyes, rolling the paper up as he rubbed his temples.  
  
“I swear, Drew can go stick this damn thing up his--” He paused, head turning. A banging sound could be heard from the center room of the Ink Machine. His brows raised, curiosity getting the better of him and he walked to the metal door. It was the demon, on the other side -- banging in a slow rhythm. It usually meant he needed something. Thomas sighed. “Look, Bendy,” He spoke, pressing the button. The door started to lift. He really shouldn’t be doing this. “I can’t have you coming outside the-- Ink..”  
  
The demon was standing, the pot in hand. His horns flopped as he walked towards Thomas, outstretching his hands. A daisy in full bloom was sprouting from the vessel. Thomas sputtered. “What the..?” He looked at the Ink Demon. “How did you…?”  
  
Bendy turned, pointing to the ink, freshly spewing from the walls. Thomas groaned. “Did you have to rip into a pipe…?” The demon looked at him, head tilting. “Of course you don’t get it. Look I’ll go get you your ink, but you can’t leave here--”  
  
The demon shoved the flower pot at him, his grin shaking agitatedly. It shut Thomas up and he watched as the demon raised his hand over the pot, ink dripping into it but the flower didn’t react. Thomas raised a brow, not entirely sure what that was supposed to accomplish. “Uh.. look,” He handed the flower back. “You don’t want to… over water it, or something. Or… over ink it either, I guess.” He thought for a moment, his eyes lighting up. “Hold on…” He pat his pockets down before finding the one with a little tiny bag. “Now I tried this before but I don’t know if it’ll work for a cartoon plant.” He handed it to the demon. “Little fertilizer pellets. Will help it grow more. Works on non-cartoon plants, I can guarantee that much.”  
  
The demon looked at it, seeming satisfied and walked back into his cage. He sat next to the chair, pot in his lap as he fiddled with the little draw string bag. Thomas closed the door again and sighed. “Maybe that’ll get him to behave for once… And… ah wait shit, the pipe…” He looked at the door, considering his options before waving a head. “Ah, screw it. It can wait until tomorrow.”  
  
__  
  
“I insist! Regardless if we have more failures, I would like to see any and all creations you’ve currently come up with.”  
  
Joey was tagging along behind him for once. Another one of his forced trips to the ink machine, and once again one where Thomas had nothing to show for it. “Here you go just yesterday telling me not to open the door to his lair and now you’re telling me to open it. Will you make up your mind?”  
  
“Ah but the pressure levels have dropped, have they not? There’s probably a broken pipe somewhere, that needs fixing up. And the… thing… should probably be reprimanded.”  
  
Thomas paused, hand down on the button as the door was going up. “Look, I don’t think that’s really--”  
  
“What is THAT!” Joey yelped. Thomas whipped his head around.  
  
Running around the den was the Ink Demon, but that’s not what caught Thomas’s eyes. On his shoulders was a smaller, Bendy looking figure. His eyes widened. Joey practically knocked him over with the force of the smack to his back.  
  
“Thomas! Why didn’t you tell me you finally got a perfect one!”  
  
“W-What. Wait, Joey, this isn’t--”  
  
The demon paused when he ran back around to the front. Joey and Thomas were still arguing with eachother. The little Bendy on his shoulders made a squeaking sound. They both paused and looked up.  
  
“Sounds, huh? Well… That can be worked around. Thomas, imagine--”  
  
The smaller Bendy’s head seemingly ripped open vertically as it screeched, revealing a dripping maw full of sharp teeth and a tongue. Its eyes were creased and it almost seemed to be smiling as it waved its hands in the air.  
  
Joey and Thomas both stopped talking. They turned their heads simultaneously looking at eachother. “...Nevermind, I can see why you didn’t call me down now.”  
  
“Then would you believe me if I told you it was originally just a flower pot?”  
  
“Wait, w-- forget it!” Joey slammed on the button, the door closing. “There was a cartoon flower pot and you gave it to th-” The door shut. The muffled arguing continued on the other side.  
  
The Ink Demon tilted his head before the small Bendy on his shoulders tapped him in between the horns. The demon looked up as the little Bendy pointed forwards and he adjusted his position and kept running.  
  
Maybe his cage wasn’t so bad afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Collab with Valonide again with the art.
> 
> This was only briefly gone over so I apologize if there's a lot of grammatically incorrect things. Hopefully I was able to pick out all the continuity errors though.
> 
> Also as a bonus have me on the third draft of this chapter with no plot related to growth:


	3. Stuck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it takes is one mistake, one slip up, and the Ink Demon will get you.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING:** Inky Blood, Gore, Body Horror

Hands gathered splinters as they were dragged across rotting floorboards. Any that weren’t caught in her skin bled and left inky trails in her wake. Splatters here, splatters there. Alice spat. A glob of inky darkness writhed before seeping into the cracks between the floorboards.  
  
The air was heavy, a pressure on all sides as the Ink Demon strode along. Shadows crawled around them, dragging anything weak enough into the inky guise covering the walls. Alice knew that those caught by the Ink Demon were never heard from again. She knew that over the time she had spent being free from the darkness that she had gathered enough power to resist the nature of his inky aura. She knew that she was strong enough to not fall apart to it.  
  
But she also knew, that by gathering that much strength, that by coming closer and closer to perfection, she was painting a target on her back. She knew that any fakes of herself would be swiftly destroyed, before she could ever harvest them for parts. Knew that the Boris’s were the only ones left untouched, the only ones she could become perfect with.  
  
She knew, as she wheezed on the floor, that whatever the Ink Demon had planned would end her. She had fought, clawed until her fingertips were nothing but jellied stubs. Screamed until he screamed back, claws tearing into her open eye socket. Ink ripping, disintegrating, melting. Alice had never liked that side of her face, but now even the veins of ink from the walls were stretching over her one good eye. There’d be no chance of being able to obtain more thick ink to plug up the wounds, no chance to find parts perfect enough to fix a face that already had a gaping hole in it before but was now even worse. She sobbed. The one time Alice Angel would be glad to be far away from a mirror...  
  
She had no idea what happened to the fakes the Ink Demon dragged away, but she knew what had happened to everyone else, and had the gall to believe she wouldn’t meet that fate herself. That is, until she heard the moans. The groans of the ocean of ink, and she turned her head, eye widening.  
  
The pools of ink below level fourteen were known to be inhabited by the lost, and the preacher that lead them there. Lead them all to their demise, in the end. Now, she saw their very reflections, arms rising out of the ink, golden hues watching as her body was being dragged to her grave.  
  
Back to the screaming well of voices. Back into the crowd that would rip her apart, take away every piece of her she’d work so hard to earn, so hard to obtain.  
  
Garbled and spitting she howled, stubs clawing against the floor and leaving trails of ink as she sanded them down past the phalanx. Her eye swiveled, an open doorway was going right past her and she grabbed onto it, holding on.  
  
For a moment it actually got the Ink Demon to pause. He looked back, face dripping, smile vibrating. He tugged but she wouldn’t budge. Alice gasped in air, and finally started to speak.  
  
“No, no no no!” She cried out, grip tightening against the doorway as the demon kept tugging. “I’ve told you, all of you! I will not stop,” tug, “I will not rest!” tug, “Not until I’m perfect, I wa - am so close, I am--” her voice cracked as she slipped. She scrabbled, a hand finding purchase around the edge, but only barely.  
  
“You will regret this…” She growled, fingers slipping, stretching. “Nobody messes with angels and gets away with it, mark my WORDS MARK MY--”  
  
The demon had walked around, towards her, and clamped her mouth shut. His breathing was terse, hissing between his teeth in a mouth that never seemed to form words and it was only for a brief moment as she was eye to eye with him that she wondered what on earth had been holding onto her legs.  
  
One look confirmed the worst: The ink itself. Wet, sticky, and burning, pulling her towards the depths with a force that kept increasing as she kept struggling to hold on. Alice finally lost her grip, grappling for boards, cracks, anything but to no avail. She screamed, fearful and furious and vengeful all at once. Her eye blazed as she watched the Ink Demon, content to stand and watch.  
  
The acidic ink bit away at her, starting with her ears, then her face. Her limbs bubbled, fractured and tore away in spongy pieces. A single eye rolled up, seeing forms and faces above her as they carried her off the shore. Lost ones, hands, all coaxing her or watching silently. Silently except the ever present dripping, and the sound of the waves. She could no longer close her eye. A croak bubbled and echoed up through the ink as the rest of her fell under, her mind melding with the rest of the lost.  
  
A single word echoed through their mind. ‘Stuck.’  
  
  
  
The Ink Demon watched for a time. Watched as the forms that had pooled up out of the ink fell back down. Watched as the hands retracted. As the ink settled and swayed. He even watched as a few limbs slithered back up and out, waving at his feet, his ankles and his knees. Coaxing him to the inky edge. An invitation.  
  
He turned away. Behind him, the limbs writhed and shriveled. Not even the dripping from the pipes sounded as he walked away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one collabed with Valonide.
> 
> Say hello and goodbye to the chapter that changed the rating from Gen to Teen! Woo!... Though part of me isn't sure if this should be M instead. Thoughts?


	4. Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ink Demon wasn't born with hate in his heart. In fact, it was quite the opposite.

In the beginning, the Ink Demon didn’t have a name. He was unlike any other soul in the studio, then. He was one with the ink, except there were no voices -- just a calm, soothing rumble of waves. Of curiosities and ideas making use of his lifeblood, to fuel other lives, stories he could witness, as if they were personally being shared with him.   
  


A time where the machine was used simply for filling inkwells. When artists would come by and fill their pots he’d feel more awake, more alive. For an artist to take their quill and finalize lines was to dance, and to dry was to settle. To be put up was to show off, and the end was to complete the idea so that new ones could flourish alongside it.

  
But at that time there was only one artist, one he knew by name because they had written it down with his ink. Henry Stein.    
  
Henry never filled his own inkwell. He could tell. The hands that carried the vessel were calloused and worn, unlike the bulky fingers and swollen knuckles of one that would cradle his pen and get blisters from the way he held it. This was the only way he got to know Henry -- from his strokes on the paper, to written notes and logs. Henry wrote very few words through the ink, but that was ok by him. It made the few he did write down a bit more special.    
  
But time passed, and faded. From the man who filled the inkwell -- one he later found was named Wally -- came more diverse and varied hands. Different wells, different artists. At first he wondered why Henry would be needing so much of his ink, excited at the prospect of what he could be creating, but as pens hit paper the inky soul realized these thoughts and lines were not that of Henry’s at all. They were different, new certainly, some even invigorating, but…   
  
Where was Henry’s work? Where had he gone? The spark that had ignited his mind didn’t return.   
  
New work and doodles were being lined and finalized. These new stories brought him joy along with the new characters. Boris and Alice warmed his heart. Sometimes he was able to set up in empty backgrounds, to walk around with still figures in a world that would never truly be his. A world that didn’t respond to his touch -- couldn’t respond to his touch.   
  
He wondered what it’d be like outside of his own mind, instead of the trickles and sensations of others thinking through him. He wondered what it’d be like to be the one holding the pen.    
  
More time passed. Different artists filtered in and out all the time it seemed. It was around this time he also started realizing that he was no longer centered around the ink machine. He felt more and more stretched out, flowing outward and around, forming a picture of crisscrossing lines in his minds eye. They went from place to place, up and down. He could hear muffled sounds and vibrations traveling along these new connectors. Sometimes they’d burst and drain and leave him tired and dizzy. His mind would grow fuzzy and pens would stop scratching. He’d feel blind. And this continued, for a time.   
  
But one day, none of the lines that had been drawn and connected through the machine had leaked. One day, everything was calm. The machine was turned on. He stirred, trying to concentrate, to figure out who was getting ink from him this time, but the ink kept pouring and pouring and he felt a drag on his very being. He resisted, but felt his own mind trickling out and out and…   
  
Splat.   
  
A crank, something rusted and metallic moved back into place. The ink stopped flowing. A connection in his mind felt like it had snapped, like a part of himself was lost, as the ink that had fallen around him coiled and dried.   
  
“It’s… It’s just a blob.”   
  
“Give it a moment, it’s still moving.”   
  
Cold. He felt cold. Something weighed on him, pushing him down.    
  
Something warm touched him then, pulsing but smooth. It wiped across his face, and he could see. A man, bulky in build, had ink over his hand. He flicked it off, frowning at the splatters as he used a dirty rag to wipe it off. Another man, taller, leaner, and with a hairy lip was standing behind him. Arms folded behind his back.   
  
“Alright so… it’s a lot bulkier than usual and has no limbs.” The man huffed.   
  
A beam of something caught his eyes and he looked up. He moved back at the sudden brightness and fell over.   
  
“Wh--”   
  
“Don’t bother, Thomas. If it’s going to fail, let it fail.”   
  
There was a word for this in his mind, one he remembered being tied to Alice again and again. Light. This was light. Bright and shining and scoring down to the floor in beams of brilliant gold. A stub of ink rose from him, as if to reach for it, when the ray was blocked off by the taller man. His expression was blank and unfeeling as he towered over him.   
  
“Thomas, take it to the vault.”   
  
“What? We finally got a Bendy and the first thing you want to do with him is--”   
  
“ _ It  _ will go to the cage. We can’t let anyone else see this thing. If it won’t fall apart, we’ll put it back through the machine later.” He adjusted his lapels and started to walk away.   
  
“Drew--”   
  
“Just do it Tom.” A loud noise came from across the room.   
  
The Ink Demon didn’t know it that day, but that was the first and last chance he’d ever have to experience sunlight, and it was the first waking memory he had. The first of many memories… and the first of many ticks on his list. A steadily growing list of lies, leading to the foot of the throne of the fool.   
  
And this time when the demon approached, he’d be the one to wield the pen that’d brought them all so many nightmares.   



	5. Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ink Demons patience finally pays off. 
> 
> A direct sequel to 'Light'.
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** Blood, Gore

A steadily growing list of lies. Each checkmarked with a scratch, a tally on a chart, with the vibrant memory of each kept to the confines of his own head. Every single time that man opened his mouth he was promising something. Whether it was to him, or others, it didn’t matter. After his time confined, locked to a cage, every single joy taken from him, denied…  
  
Normally, when Henry went through his loops and the end reel played, he’d return to the well. The screaming, violent torrent of souls forcibly injected into the ink. Ink that used to be his, and his alone -- now it was so overcrowded it was hard to think. He was used to letting it play in the background, like the reel of a projector that lit up and played nothing.  
  
But with the return of the creator came the return of a second pen, one Henry didn’t realize he still kept on his person. One the Ink Demon didn’t realize was kept on his person, till it fell to the floor. Till he was able to reach for it, to feel the ink that still lingered inside -- _his_ ink. Untainted by the follies of a man who set himself up on a golden pedestal.

All those years ago, Joey had found out how drawing and writing could affect him. All those years ago, when the studio had shut down, when his new playground had been created and he’d been shoved into it, he’d made sure to get rid of any pens. So afraid was this man that the Ink Demon remained patient between the loops, chained to his cage as his mind stayed with the only pen left. The pen that Joey Drew handled to write them all into this cursed existence.  
  
Time was an interesting construct. It could shorten or lengthen based on one's own perceptions of it. In theory, one could live the lives of a hundred through the experiences of a year, if one could remember everything from that year, and although the studio looped again and again, it never stayed on the same story.  
  
The demon remembered everything. It made time longer, in his mind's eye, but in this moment it made everything worth it.  
  
He’d never written anything but memories of earlier days surged through his mind, fresh and clean as he picked and pieced together words. Writing them down with a pen with clean ink, as words ran along the wall. They glowed a brilliant gold as a reel melted and formed out of the wall and clattered to the ground.  
  
An end reel, but of a different make. It took only a moment to place it in, only a moment for the golden glows to light up the screens with the end, and a moment longer for his grin to widen even further as the cage of the Ink Machine warped and melded, and reshaped into…  
  
A radio played, in the corner. A TV and a corkboard, a sketch table with storyboards with every bit of story familiar to the demon. They replayed in his mind as his eyes looked over them.  
  
A clock on the wall, ticked away the seconds. The seconds it took for his shadows to claim the walls, to dampen out the rays from the sun. Seconds more to hear the crash from the kitchen as he stepped over the threshold.  
  
Joey Drew had fallen against the sink, face paler than paper, gaze like a cornered animal. Like everyone’s had been, before they’d been thrusted into a lifeless cycle. Good.  
  
“W-What are you doing? How--” Joey gasped, scrambling. Dishes, cleaned and stacked, tumbled over as he flailed, trying to hold onto the counters edge. He fell upon the opposing counter.

The Ink Demon ignored him. Grin jittering, adrenaline flooding through him. For the first time in years, he felt excitement. It rushed through him like a drug. His gaze turned to Henry. The old animator was still blankly staring forward, body and mind frozen essentially in time. He could witness, and he could watch, but do no more. That was how he was scripted. He wouldn’t move again, wouldn’t move for the door to reset the loop, until Joey finished his speech.  
  
Joey had managed to scramble to his wheelchair, wheezing, trying to take advantage of the Ink Demons attention being elsewhere but for all of a moment. The wheels slipped and he once again went tumbling this time to the floor.  
  
But even as he did so, and the Ink Demon turned his attention to the broken old man, crawling and squirming to get away, he forgot one thing.  
  
That the only way out, was where the demon was standing. That the only other doorway, was occupied by something that was very real and very tangible. By the object of his nightmares.  
  
The Ink Demon stepped forward. Joey raised a hand, stuttering violently. “N-N-N-Now, t-this, we can fix this,” He gave a huff of a laugh, smiling. “W-We can--”  
  
An inky hand took up the pen and wrote on the walls. The other rested a hand on Henry’s shoulder, and the man's eyes blinked open, as if seeing for the first time -- aware, but then his body stiffened. “H-Huh..?”  
  
“H-Henry!” Joey spoke up then. “H-Help, Henry!”  
  
Henry gazed to the broken man on the floor. The demon kept writing. Henry’s body moved, going to the words on the wall. They glowed, materializing into an axe, which fell into Henry’s waiting grasp. His eyes widened. “I-I can’t…”  
  
“Henry.. No Henry stay back…” Joey’s hand raised up, to keep him away, to stop him.  
  
The Ink Demon raised a hand. A clawed, boney finger pointed as Henry moved. As one as Henry was with the ink now, he was finally able to speak.  
  
_End him. For the suffering he’s caused everyone to fall to._  
  
“No, no no no--!” Joey cried out. A blade gouging his shoulder and he shrieked, desperation clawing and tearing his voice apart. “Please, Henr--”  
  
Another hit. To the face, this time. Then another, and another. The body thumped to the floor, the inky shadows dancing along the walls.  
  
The Ink Demon broke his grip on Henry’s script. Henry flung the axe to the side and gasped, backing away. “No, no no no--”  
  
_Different than Ink, isn’t it? It has color. This place seems to be full of those._  
  
“W-Why? What…” Henry gasped, looking up. His face was tear streaked. The shadows were drawn back, but only a little. Just enough to take the edge off his hysteria. “Why…?”  
  
_None of us can leave this place._ Not as they were, not with how tied down they’d all become. _It’s only fitting that now he can’t leave either._  
  
“W-- That’s just as cruel as--”  
  
_Take his humanity._ Whatever was left of it. _Take it and leave, or stay and watch the new game._  
  
“N-New game…?” Henry gulped. It was impossible not to shake. The demon’s voice rung in his head. “But what about--”  
  
_Souls have been tormented for years within my ink. It’s only fair we give them a proper ending._ The Ink Demon walked to the door, pen in hand. He wrote again, his body shifting and reforming as he did so. _One they can finally rest easy with, and leave without knowing_ “the hell they’ve just been through.”  
  
Henry’s eyes widened. The demon only grinned. He tapped his feet, now looking up to the old man as he stretched his hand out. “Well? You gonna join us or you gonna head out? I won’t blame ya if you do. Ya’ve been through and hell and back after all!”  
  
Henry stared. At the hand he was being offered, and then at the corpse of Joey Drew, crumpled in the corner. He stared and stared.  
  
And then he took it, grip firm. Bendy smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I finally figured out how I wanted to end this, I got super excited. I think it's funny how 'Dark' is the one that turns into a fix-it fic. Now is this new scenario better or worse? Henry will find out, in time.


	6. Dress Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unused screenplay for a Halloween episode. Scrapped because of the inability to do the audio work around the Narrator.

Title card and music plays

  
The camera pans from the sky towards a small town. Decorations can be seen from a distance lining the streets. The camera parts it’s way through leafless tree branches as animals make a ruckus.  


Narrator

  
It was a wonderful day in the town of Sillyvision. The owls were hooting, the bats were screeching -- wait, the bats were screeching?

Ah that’s right! Today’s Halloween isn’t it? And look, down on the sidewalk! Who could that be?

Camera goes to Bendy, casually walking down the sidewalk. He has a pail full of candy in his hand as he whistles. He’s dressed up with a long cape, a rimmed hat and a toy crossbow. With the pumpkins and skeletons dancing in the graveyard nearby, he seems to be trick-or-treat ready.  
  
  


Narrator

  
It’s Bendy! Dressed up like he’s going to be making a pizza -- oh, not a pizza? What’s that frown for? Oh! Is that some garlic? And a stake? Are you a vampire hunter? I’ll take that furious nodding as a yes! Where are you going with all that candy? Home? I suppose we missed most of the evening’s festivities. Carry on, carry on.  


Bendy keeps walking, his whistling resuming when a rustling can be heard from the bushes nearby. He pauses, looking around, confused. 

  
Narrator

Hm? What’s the matter, Bendy? The night have you spooked?

  
Boris pops out of the bush behind Bendy, quickly stealing the bucket of treats, his longer than usual front canines showing off in the dark as he makes away with his prize. He’s wearing a cape buttoned with a skull, but otherwise is wearing his usual overalls.  


Narrator

  
Oh no! Boris stole all your hard earned candy! Well? What are you crying for! Boris looks like he’s a vampire tonight and what are you? That’s right, a hunter! Now go catch that blood sucking wolf!  
  


Bendy nods furiously, a fist in the air as he stands in a pose, His cape fluttering in the wind as he runs after Boris. It’s easy to follow him, considering he’s leaving a trail of wrappers in his wake. Bendy hops over trash cans, bushes, and runs straight first into a gate. Boris laughs at the gate antic, which only makes Bendy angrier. Boris finally runs all the way back home but the door is locked. Bendy corners him and he’s about to get away again when a beam of light shines down from the sky.  


Narrator  


Oh my what’s this? There’s a choir of Angels singing! Who’s that, descending from the clouds?

  
Alice Angel floats down on a cloud gracefully. She’s wearing her normal attire. The cloud dissipates as she hits the ground. Her halo ‘dings’ into existence. She looks between Bendy and Boris, huffing at Boris as she instantly is able to tell right from wrong.

Narrator

It’s Alice Angel! Oh dear, Boris, it looks like she’s mad at you.

Alice stomps over as Boris cowers. She swipes the bucket away from him. Wrappers go sprinkling down to the ground. She walks back over to Bendy, kneeling in front of him and handing the bucket back to him with a smile. He returns the smile with one twice as big and takes it. He rummages and rummages through the bucket, pulling out paper after paper. His smile becomes tentative as he keeps looking, turning into a frown as he reaches the bottom of the bucket. He looks surprised for a moment, taking out a single piece of candy still in the wrapper. Bendy looks towards the audience.

  
Narrator

  
Well, at least you were able to get a single piece back, Bendy. Oh no, don’t cry! There’s always next halloween! 

Alice has her hands covering her mouth. She looks upset. She looks back to Boris, scowling. His ears flatten. She smacks him. The edges of the screen shrink into a circle around the smack mark on Boris’s cheek. Boris licks his lips of some chocolate spots before the circle shrinks out of existence with a popping sound.  


Ending Card Plays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's sufficient to say if I've learned anything from this chapter, it's that I need to be better prepared for weekends. I don't have as much time to work on these then, at least for the moment, so coming back home and scratching my head didn't help a whole lot. Ended up writing it like a screen play, partially because I thought it'd be cute and partially because it was easier for my brain to think in one at the time. Well, hopefully it serves as a good intermission after the last chapter.
> 
> You all will need it for the 'Monster' one.
> 
> This will be updated tomorrow with artwork from Valonide -- this is a collab but we were both running late on this one.


	7. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a monster in everyone. Even you, Henry.
> 
> Sequel to 'Light' and 'Dark'.

Today was the big day. Allison had set up everything to be perfect today. She’d woken up early, made sure to eat a complete breakfast and even wore her favorite perfume. With a smile she returned to her bedroom, her husband still lying motionless on the bed. “Honey, I’m heading out.” She threw over her shoulder as she grabbed her bag.  
  
A groan answered her. She rolled her eyes. “Now now, you have to wake up soon too, ya know.”  
  
“Nnn ai dom grofrom…” Thomas muffled into his pillow, turning over.  
  
“What was that?” Allison cupped a hand to her ear.  
  
He huffed, raising his head above the pillow. His hair was tousled with a severe case of bed head. He scowled. “I don’t go in until later…”  
  
“Later is in a few hours, you still need to drive,” she booped his nose, “and eat. Please don’t forget to eat.”  
  
Thomas waved her off, burying his head back in the pillow. “Go tmwormth alremy.”  
  
She laughed, “I’ll see you at lunch,” and kissed his head before heading out the door, ready to conquer what the day had in store for her on her first day at Henry Stein studios.  
  
__  
  
She’d been staring into the dressing room’s mirror and avoiding her coworkers for the past hour. She’d been ecstatic to learn she’d gotten the role of Alice Angel and meeting the toon too was a kick to boot! Of course, she didn’t have a voice yet -- she had to provide it for her first episode, but when she did? She couldn’t wait to hear Alice actually speak to her, to everyone. But then the scripts went through her mind. She’d practiced the songs but she wasn’t sure which she was singing today. She thought of the band and the music director staring at her. He had been a bit mean looking that one time she’d met him and--  
  
“Ok Allison, you got this.” She let out a big sigh, leaning over the sink. “You’re gonna be the best Alice there is, and then you’re going to cheer and talk with Alice. It’ll be the best darn thing ever.” She cleared her throat, standing up straight. Her fingers curled into her palms. “I'm the cutest little angel, sent from above, and I know just how to swing.

I got a bright little halo, and I'm filled with love…”  
  
The door abruptly opened. “Hey toots!”  
  
“A-AHM ALICE ANGEL!” She shrieked, her head turning, stunned. “Ah.” In front of her was the stunned toon of Bendy the Dancing Demon. He laughed.  
  
“Well ya will be in a bit! We need you in the recordin’ booth, doll.” He grinned, big and wide as his shrunken eyes closed. Allison gave an embarrassed smile.  
  
“Ah, uhm, yeah! I was just warming up. I’ll be right out. Oh, and Bendy?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Allison was looking in the mirror, powder in hand, as she did a few final touch ups. She flipped it closed. “Knock with a lady in here next time.”  
  
“Uh? O-Oh!” He seemed flustered, rubbing the back of his head. “Righty-ho toots, I’m off! Tell Sammy I said hi!” And without a hitch he zoomed away, cartoon sound effects and all.  
  
She sighed, still embarrassed but more composed now. “Well, today is the day,” she spoke to herself in the mirror. Its image… shifted for a second. Almost seemed to flicker. She blinked, her eyes narrowing as she stared, but it was just her in the mirror. She sighed again, “This is what I get for waking up early…” and walked off.  
  
__  
  
Today was the day.  
  
“Come on, Henry! The studio needs ya!”  
  
It had been years since the studio had first opened up with him and Bendy at the wheel. On this day, was the anniversary of the animated cartoons, and they were introducing a new character.  
  
“Henry? Heeyy! Henry!”  
  
Alice Angel. It’d taken them so long to get here and yet it was almost over. Maybe, hopefully when they finally caught up with the last of the cartoons opening line they could all--  
  
“HENRY!!” Bendy had jumped up, practically screaming in his face. Henry gasped, tumbling backwards as he hit his desk. “W-W-Wha-”  
  
“Geez, there ya are, Henry!” Bendy was tapping his foot, frowning. “What’s da matta with you, huh? It’s the big day and here ya are fussin’ about in your office! Come on, everybody’s excited!” He twirled his body around, his head remaining stationary floating above his head as he grinned. “This is the day, after all!”  
  
Henry looked to him, adjusting his tie as he composed himself. “Ahem, Bendy, this is the day YOU’VE been waiting for.”  
  
Bendy blinked, a question mark appearing over his head. “Whaddya mean?”  
  
“You’ve been complaining about not having Alice Angel since the first day we opened up this place. Couldn’t wait for your love interest, huh?”  
  
Bendy flushed, adjusting his tie as he spun on his heel. “T-That’s a load of poppies!”

  
Henry hummed, following the toon out the door. “Suuure it is. You keep telling yourself that, bud.”  
  
“H-Hey! For your in-fo-may-shun!” Bendy pointed at him, his foot tapping a mile a minute. “Today is the day we gotta go to the recordin’ room and watch the band play! All stars and what not, you’ll love it! Sammy’s been excited to finally have the studio’s head down for a visit!”  
  
Henry laughed. “But I’ve been down there before!”  
  
“Not since the resets ya haven’t!”  
  
“I--” Oh, that’s right. Henry looked down towards the ground. This was just the perfected reset, after years of work. After years it took to reset everyone’s memories, years it took to reshape the place, to create the world based off of Henry’s memories of it. To--  
  
“Oi, oi!” Bendy was snapping his fingers, his arm comically long to reach up to Henry’s face. “Snap outta ya mopin, today’s a day for smiles, for celebration, for dreams ta come true!” 

  
“Hah,” Henry deadpanned, stopping in front of the music room door. Dreams. When was the last time he heard that one? “If Joey were here--”  
  
“Henry!” Sammy had turned around the moment the door opened. The whole band seemed to be at attention. They went from practicing or cleaning their instruments to stare. Some even whispered. “You’re here! I-I mean of course you’re here, it’s the studio’s anniversary and we’re recording for a new character, and--”  
  
“Easy, easy!” Henry waved his hands, smiling. “Of course I’d be here! Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“I-I never doubted for a second you’d come here,” Sammy reassured. A woman stepped beside them, eyeing them both curiously. “I-I mean you made it to the last anniversary,” Henry winced, knowing that was a lie. “A-And you made it to the--”  
  
“Ahem!” The woman coughed into her hand. The two men looked at her and she smiled. “Hello! I don’t believe we’ve properly met, Mr…”  
  
“Stein, but please, call me Henry,” He shook her hand. “And you must be Mrs. Allison?”  
  
“Mrs. Pendle,” she corrected, eyes closed and matter of fact. She peeked an eye open. “But Allison is fine.”  
  
“Hey hey hey what’s the hold up ya big dopes!” Bendy had made his way over to one of the chairs in the back and was heading straight for them. He started pushing at Allison’s legs, forcing her to start walking. “Come on, come on! We got a hit number to record! Sammy!”  
  
“Y-Yes, right away!” He turned to Henry. “You can take a spot up in the projectionist booth. I’m sure Norman would love the company.”  
  
“Hey, it’s cramped enough up here as it is!”  
  
Sammy rolled his eyes, calling up, “Then why did you bring up three extra chairs?”  
  
“Because shut your mouth, that’s why!”  
  
Henry laughed. “I’ll take you up on the offer, thanks.”  
  
Bendy came back, pulling on Henry’s hand. “You too ya big goof! We don’t wanna ruin perfection down ‘ere!”  
  
The band all sat down, positioning their instruments. Henry and Bendy were out the door, walking down the little hall that seemed to stretch up to the projectionist’s booth. Timed seemed to still, as the dust hovered in midair before pausing entirely. Henry blinked, looking down at Bendy. They’d stopped walking. “Bendy?”  
  
“Just wanted to get this off my chest in a manner where no one would hear us, yeah?” He grinned. “Here’s to hoping Sammy isn’t the one to ruin it this time.”  
  
Ah, that’s what this was about. Henry narrowed his eyes. “Or Alice.”  
  
“That was _once_ .” Bendy pouted. “What about the first go around, huh? How we messed up Norman pretty bad and--”  
  
“You want to know what I’m going to do if this gets messed up again, aren’t you?”  
  
“Geez, what’s with the glare? Yes, fine -- we need a game plan if anything--”  
  
“We’ll do what we’ve done.” Henry walked ahead. “Melt the place and restart. We can’t have any mistakes.” He kept walking, realizing before he turned the corner that everything was still paused. “Bendy?”  
  
The toon had frozen, smile still on his face but the animated shiver was hard to ignore. Bendy threw his hands behind his head, walking back up to him. “Yeah, yeah. Say you don’t... have the...” He shook his head. “Nevermind.” Bendy grabbed Henry’s hand, turning the corner.  
  
Time continued and the rustling and chatting of the music room resumed. In reality it only took a moment for Henry and Bendy to take their seats. Alice Angel was already there and she waved at both of them. Bendy made sure to get the seat next to her as he started making animated gestures with her, who silently laughed at all of them. Henry watched before looking over the railing. There was a hush among the band, with only the muffled speaking of Sammy and Allison audible from where they were.  
  
“Glad you could make it big guy.” Norman leaned over to Henry. “Even if you’re not smiling for a change.” Before he could respond the projector turned on.  
  
__  
  
The band started to play as the reel began. The opening tune swiftly went into the sound effects of Bendy and his antics. Then, Alice Angel came into the show. Allison stood proudly, hand outstretched, and started to sing.  
  
“I'm just a lonely angel, sittin’ here on a shelf…”  
  
She made it melancholic, quickly picking up as the song went along. She briefly glanced at Alice sitting up in the booth. Her hands were to her chin, her eyes big as she watched herself on the screen for the first time. Allison smiled.

  
“I never could resist all your charms, you devil!”  
  
Allison wiggled her shoulders, winking at Sammy whose eyes had flickered over to watch her. He rolled them, going back to directing, a sudden glare finding its way to the drummer. She managed to keep herself composed to keep from laughing, deciding maybe looking out at the rest of the band wasn’t the best idea. Her eyes went up to the animation as she started to imitate Alice's antics and gestures.  
  
“Sha boop de boo boop she boop bee doo bow!” The song felt like it had ended about as quickly as it started, the episode ending soon after. Allison practically held her breath in, not making any sudden noises as the projector clicked off and a hush swept over the band. It was then that Sammy started to speak.  
  
“Now--”  
  
Everyone erupted in applause. The band had stood up in a ruckus, cheering. Somebody’s trumpet got thrown across the room with a squawk. She could see Henry was clapping too, though she could also see Sammy’s patience slowly thinning from where she was standing and decided perhaps someone should try to quiet them down. She got out of the recording booth, approaching the music director. “Guys, guys, Sammy’s trying too--”  
  
“Does this mean we can breathe for a couple of days? No more work?”  
  
“Doubt it. Don’t we have another one after this?”  
  
“I dunno, but Allison could sure as heck sing. Maybe we could--”  
  
Allison took a deep breath and yelled, “QUIET!”  
  
The whole band quieted in a fast uneven trickle. She breathed, a bit embarrassed as all eyes -- even Sammy’s -- were on her. She twirled a piece of hair. “Uhm, I--”  
  
Sammy placed a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Now, as I was saying, now that we have that piece done we still need to--”  
  
Then a voice just as melodic spoke up over the crowd. The same song, as just sung was now being voiced by Alice Angel herself. 

Sammy was silently seething. Bendy and Alice had come down the stairs and were now standing by the door as Alice sung the song that had just been playing. Allison smiled so wide it hurt. She was touched. Alice had only sung a snippet but Allison clapped all the same, walking over to her. “I’m so glad you finally have a voice! How is it to be able to speak?”  
  
Alice smiled, her halo softly glowing. “I love it. Thank you Mrs. Pendle for being my voice.” She curtsied.

Allison felt her face warm. Alice was absolutely adorable. “No no, thank _you_ for letting me be it! And please,” she outstretched her hand, a big grin on her face, “call me Allison -- if you’d like, anyway. I don’t want to rush anything if you don’t want to, or--”  
  
Alice’s smile melted her heart. “I’d like that.” She took her hand.  
  
Images flashed through Allison’s mind then. Her hands, covered in ink, as she wrenched herself out of slimy pools. A Boris with a metal arm pulling her out. Tom. His name was Tom. And then she was stabbing a macabre of Alice, face twisted, screaming, halo melted--  
  
She jolted away a moment before Alice screamed. Allison was rubbing her hand, unable to focus on anything. “What… was…”  
  
“Alice? Alice!” Allison looked up. Bendy had a hand on Alice’s shoulder. Normally when a toon melted it meant they were worried or upset, but… This was different. Alice’s halo was melting as ink-blobbed tears dripped down her cheeks. Her mouth seemed to not be conforming to a line properly. As she spoke, her voice sounded… off.  
  
“I-I-I need to go!” And with that she ran, a trail of ink in her wake.  
  
“Wait, Alice!” Bendy ran off following her.  
  
Allison watched them go with her eyes on the door. She felt a hand on her shoulder and flinched back.  
  
“Alli- it’s ok,” Sammy waved his hands. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
  
“O-Oh, Sammy.” She gave a shaky smile. “What’s… going…?” The whole band was staring at her. Sammy’s eyes were on her, brows creased.  
  
“You’re pale. What happened?”  
  
The visions flickered through her mind again and she stumbled. Sammy caught her. “I-I don’t…”  
  
“I’m taking you to the infirmary.” Sammy looked up with a pointed glare at the rest of the band. “Stay put and for once don’t start any rumors.” He started to fast walk, a hand over Allison’s shoulder, guiding her.  
  
Henry had stood up from his place in the projectionist booth. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.  
  
__  
  
Allison hadn’t known what had happened between the infirmary and the music department. All she knew was that she was shaking, sweating, and could really use a margarita and her husband.  
  
Thomas. She felt the blood drain from her face as the name filtered through her mind. Where was Thomas? She was just about to move to stand when she felt a hand on her shoulder and a glass of water thrust into her hands. She looked up. “I need to--”  
  
“Rest is what you need,” Sammy tapped the edge of the glass, “and this. Look… I don’t know what happened, but you’re about as pale as a sheet right now. What happened?” He sat down in a chair by the bed, hands resting on his knees, fingers interlaced.  
  
Allison looked down, taking a sip of water. Her hands gripped the glass, knuckles pale. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  
  
“Try me.”  
  
She looked up to find Sammy looking straight back at her. “No, no you don’t get it. What I saw wasn’t normal but it’s, it’s not -- it wasn’t just some freak out of the moment thing, not just something I saw--”  
  
“Something you saw?”  
  
“--But it was more like a memory, like something that actually happened, like I -- I was an angel made of ink a-and I don’t--”  
  
“Breathe.” Allison breathed. “...Breathe out.” She breathed out. “Drink.”  
  
She scowled, sniffling, but she put the glass to her lips. “I’m not that stupid…”  
  
“When you panic, you forget to do things. Like breathing. I’m not insulting your intelligence.” He frowned. “And I’m most certainly not insulting your story.” Sammy leaned forward. “Do you think maybe Alice…?”  
  
“God I hope not.” Allison scrunched her brows. “It was horrifying, I’d never want her to see something like that.”  
  
“She was just as shaken up as you. Melting but it was…” He furrowed a brow. “Anyway, you’re certain that’s what you saw? You, being an angel made of ink? With a sword? How did it feel?”  
  
“W-What…?” Allison furrowed her brows, leaning away from the music director. He seemed to realize how close he was getting towards her and leaned back into the chair. “I already told you it felt like a memory… Like… It was actually me…” Her hands started shaking and she tightened them around the glass. She bent over. “Oh god oh god I can _feel_ the ink running down my arms I--”  
  
“Allison, what am I holding?”  
  
She looked up, wheezing. “A-A… a book…?”  
  
Sammy set it down and pointed to the wall. “What about that?”  
  
Allison looked, eyes squinting. “I-I don’t--”  
  
“What tells the time, Allison?”  
  
“A-A clock… there’s a clock on the wall…” She breathed in once, breathing out. She mumbled. “Sammy can I admit something a little bit crazy?” She waited for a response, looking back at Sammy when she didn’t get one. He waved for her to go on. She swallowed. “W-What if I told you I think that… that at one point I actually was…?” She gave a dry laugh. “I know it’s stupid…”  
  
Sammy watched her for a bit. Allison remained quiet, looking away. He stood up. “...There’s something I want to show you.”  
  
Allison’s brows rose and she looked up at him. “Show me..?”  
  
“If you truly believe that you were made of ink,” he began as he walked to the doorway, “then there’s something I need to show you.”  
  
She placed the glass quickly on the table, standing up as she followed after him. “Wait, slow down -- I know I sound crazy but I don’t think I need any help.” They turned a corner, heading down some stairs. She paled. “We’re not going to the phone, are we? I don’t need to go to the looney bin I -- I lied I didn’t see anything, you can’t prove anything, I’m not--”  
  
“Quiet.” Sammy spoke in monotone, approaching a set of doors. Allison paused, blinking.  
  
“Since when did this place have an elevator…? I thought this was a one story studio--”  
  
“Two. We do have a second floor.” He hit the button. “Going up, that is.”  
  
“W-Wait, you mean there’s a basement? But why have an elevator for a singular basement? Isn’t there--”  
  
“Mrs. Pendle,” Sammy turned to her as the elevator doors opened up with a chime. “You’re blabbering is wearing on my patience, and now that you are clearly more curious then stressed and on the verge of a panic attack I insist you remain quiet if you want to see what I’m talking about.” He stepped into the elevator. “And take note -- this is the point of no return. If you wish to turn back now--”  
  
“No, I’ll come.” She set a look she hoped was determined on her face. Sammy raised an eyebrow at it. She stepped onto the elevator.  
  
“Good.” He pressed a button -- the only one marked without a floor. The doors closed when he spoke again. “This part of the studio is off limits, by the way.”  
  
Allison’s brows rose. “Are we going to get fired for this…?”  
  
“Mrs. Pendle…”  
  
“Hushing up now, sorry.” She clamped her jaw shut, standing by the far wall of the elevator. The buttons lit up, going through the line as they traversed downward. Through the bars she could make out the other levels as they passed them by. Pipes she had seen only briefly throughout the studio were pumping something throughout the walls down here. A stench hit her nose, foul and chemically. Her face scrunched up.  
  
“Better get used to it. It only gets worse.”  
  
The elevator eventually chugged to a stop, dinging as they reached what she assumed must have been the bottom floor. The doors folded open and they stepped out.

Metal clanked underfoot as they traveled down hallways big enough to host giants. 

  
Allison kept her arms close, walking closely to Sammy. One of the big metal gates opened and she stood, mouth agape.  
  
Thinner hallways greeted them. Along the walls were glass tubes and inside of them were people. Some were thinner inkier variants of their true selves. Some were only bodies, gaping and bubbling out of ink that dripped down from the ceiling of these tubes and down to the drains that filtered all except their forms. Some even had completely dark immoving versions of Boris and others were empty except for the ink stains indicating that something had been there, once upon a time.  
  
Allison walked, footsteps loud in a place with the sound of pumps and inkfalls as she approached one of the tubes. Her hands pressed against the glass as she looked in. A head, akin to a skull with a dripping mouth looked up at her. Golden eyes peered above their knees, sitting curled up in the cage.  
  
“I don’t know how long this has been here.” Sammy spoke up then. “But clearly, this is… unnatural. Not… correct.”  
  
She could see the deformed ribs of the creature. Their whole body oozed like a melted wax figure.  
  
“But this is what I wanted to show you. This place. Whatever Mr. Stein is planning, whatever Bendy is planning, it has to involve this, and… hopefully… these were never people to begin with… hopefully…”  
  
The figure raised a hand, trembling and blotted, and placed it against the glass. Allison moved hers to cover it from her side. Her nails dug into the barrier. She frowned, but her eyes caught the others as golden orbs widened. A reflection in the glass made her spin around but it was too late. An inky hand latched onto her and dragged her up the wall, slamming her into the glass and cracking it. The air was practically ripped from her lungs as she coughed and spat blood to the ground.  
  
She was staring face to face with an eyeless monstrosity with a shaky grin. An amalgamation of Bendy, skeletal, tall, and monstrous. Their shadows danced along the walls.  
  
“Hopefully you won’t end up like them.” Sammy stood up, almost smug.  
  
Allison turned his terrified gaze to him, rage boiling underneath her skin. “You--”  
  
“Ah, so you found her.” Steps echoed along the periphery. Allison's head turned. Henry Stein was walking towards them with Bendy at his heels.  
  
“Oh, wow, it was little Miss Allison this time, eh?” Bendy tsked. “That means I lost’ta bet.”  
  
Henry only hummed. He turned to Sammy. “Good job.” Sammy bowed.  
  
“You…” Allisons words were spat like venom. “What the hell are you planning? Why are there people in these tubes? What’s with the ink?”  
  
“Even strapped to a wall she never seems to shut up.” Sammy mumbled.  
  
“And you!” She turned to Sammy. “You tricked me!”  
  
“I did tell you the top of the elevator was the point of no return. Maybe you should have listened.”  
  
“Enough.” Henry walked forward. “You’ve ruined years of work, I hope you know that.”  
  
“What?” Allison’s laugh puttered. “By existing?”  
  
“We’ve worked years to get this to be perfect, to let everyone have their happy ending. And now I have to restart. Again. And it’s your fault.”  
  
“This is the first time you’re the cause of it, so don’t feel too bad!” Bendy grinned, spinning around. “Ah nuts that means we gotta drag everybody back down here. Should I start melting the place now?”  
  
“Not yet.” Henry motioned to the demon currently holding her in place to lower her. It did -- sliding her down against the wall, still pinning her. Now, face to face with her, she could see just how angry he was -- angry like her husband would get sometimes, but a tad… worse. She couldn’t explain how. Just the tightness of wrinkles and the lines of his eyes made her shiver but she’d deny it if asked. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”  
  
“You’re idea… of _helping_ people… Is to shove them into tubes and turn them into inky monstrosities. To force them to go through… whatever this is. To throw them all, up there?” Memories trickled into her mind, but they didn’t scare her. She knew they weren’t fake anymore. “You’re a monster just like Joey.”  
  
The air almost seemed to still. Bendy’s eyes widened and he looked up to Henry. Sammy stiffened. The Ink Demon was the only thing unmoving, keeping her anchored in place. Ink swirled up from the ground, reaching for Henry’s hand as it formed into a stick and then a sycthe. Henry breathed in and exhaled.  
  
“I know.”  
  
The last thing she remembered was her head tumbling to the ground. Her mouth opening, as if to make a sound, but croaking instead as her eyes rolled up into her head and she sank into the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all might have noticed... I updated this daily for like a week and then fell off the face of the planet. I will still finish this collection, it just obviously won't be daily anymore. On the plus side you're going to get a chapter drop of like... 4 chapters if not within the next hour within the next two days, so that'll be fun. Goal is now to try and finish this up by the end of August, or the beginning of September. I think the technical deadline IS September? Here's to hoping.


	8. Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry never thought he’d get out of the studio. Time wore on, and him along with it. A cog in the machine. That was all he was, all he felt like.
> 
> He never thought the lost ones would be the ones to give him a bit of hope.

Henry never thought he’d get out of the studio. Time wore on, and him along with it. A cog in the machine. That was all he was, all he felt like.  
  
He’d gotten so close to the end of another run, the end of another pointless journey. He’d gotten to the lost ones with barely a day’s worth of rest. Tired and worn out, he sat with them on the floor. He could practically feel their eyes on him as he scanned once again over the writing on the walls.   
  
‘No Angels!’   
  
‘It’s time to believe.’   
  
‘He will set us free.’   
  
He rubbed at his eyes. It felt like there were indents taking up half of where his cheeks should be, half of where his bags were. Golden and glowing, staggering and stepping, a lost one walked in front of him with more ink than bones to their name. Henry looked up. “What?”   
  
They swayed in place, staring. In hand was a book, mottled by ink. Henry’s brow’s rose. This was different. “What is it?”   
  
The lost one handed the book down to Henry. He could barely make out the cover, but he knew what it was -- ‘The Illusion of Living’. Joey Drew’s name was scratched out on the cover. He didn’t bother suppressing the little spark of vindictive pleasure at the sight. Intrigued, he flipped it open. 

He knew what the original book had been about -- seen it around the studio too many times to count. Ruminations of a mad man, and a machine that defied nature. Of what said machine could create and instill in already living beings. The blatant disregard of a cost so high only someone truly monstrous would pay it. A book of immortality.  
  
This, however, was different. The offensive material had either been ripped or scratched out. Drawings of Bendy, both in his monstrous and true form were depicted on the pages. Scribblings of words he could barely make out had been carved into fresh pages probably taken straight out of the animation department, worded in a manner that was vaguely familiar. Prayers, and wishes. A doctrine of guidance -- of a prophecy passed down by all those that had been damned to the depths of the studio.   
  
Slowly, Henry shook his head. “I don’t get it.” His hands shook. “I know it’s not Bendy you’re talking about in these, but it’s just…” He closed the book, and stared down at the cover. “...It can’t be me.”   
  
More and more eyes were watching him now as he remained slumped against a wall, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to move. He was weary, drained, spent, 

and so so tired.

The lost one crouched down onto their knees and placed an inky hand on his shoulder, making a blurbling noise. He almost flinched away from it, but stopped himself. After this long, he was used to associating the touch of ink with pain. However, after he got over his initial reaction, it wasn’t so bad. It was… comforting. There was a reassuring weight behind it, as if they understood and shared his sorrow.   
  
The Lost One directed what might have been an expectant glance at him. Henry spoke, this time tinged with regret. “I don’t know what you’re saying.”   
  
It was then he noticed motion behind them. Other lost ones were sliding something against the floor. A statue of Bendy was pushed in front of him. He frowned, but a thought flickered through his mind. He took out the seeing tool, the one Allison had given him all those loops ago, and aimed it at the statue.   
  
Nothing. Just as always, there was nothing. His arm lowered. However, even that fresh wave of disappointment wasn’t enough to distract him from the sight in front of him. All around the statue lost ones gathered. They made gestures of prayer, some of worship. Others looked as if they were tossing coins into a wishing well, leaving trinkets and making silent requests.   
  
He watched as the lost one in front of him stood up, and turned to the statue. They bowed their head, their eyes closing.   
  
After a long moment, Henry stood up, watching them all in the quiet. Muffled sounds of the record from outside the room reverberated through the walls. It was louder than the pipes and all the running ink, at least for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and realized he still had the book in hand. He tapped the praying lost one on the shoulder, handing it back to them.   
  
They shook their head and pushed it back. They made a cross motion over their ribs. Henry thought he saw what could have been a smile on their face. Then they had turned back, to continue with their fellows in silence.   
  
Henry remained for a time, book under his arm. He put his hands in his pockets, letting the hum of the background relax his muscles. The edge of his lips quirked upward.   
  
For a time, there was peace. A calm in the land of never ending storms. He thought that maybe there was some hope after all.

A dangerous thought. Only time could tell if it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's any inconsistencies or something looks weird, point em out. Because I didn't post these all up as soon as I wrote them they were edited but were rushed to be put up today so italics might be off or something. Spacing might be off but that's because I'm copy/pasting from Google docs.


	9. Fave Ship/ Beach day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s beach day! Alice, Bendy and Boris are all enjoying a swell time in the waves and sand! Even the Butcher Gang is there -- wait, the Butcher Gang?

There was hardly a cloud in the sky. Tropical birds chirped and flew around the palm trees. On the sand of the beach a net was set up, with Alice and Bendy on either side. They were both in bathing suits -- a one piece and swimming trunks respectively. Bendy smirked, spinning a volleyball on a single finger. “You ready for this one, toots? Remember: you gotta hit the ball, not sit there and watch it flutter.”

Alice huffed, hands on her hips. Her bottom lip jutted out. “That was once. I’ve never played volleyball before.” Her eyes arced with the ball as Bendy served it over. She ran to it and barely missed it.

“Well you got step one down!” Bendy shouted at her. She grumbled and tossed the ball back. Bendy hit it back at her. “That’s not a serve, doll!”

Her eyes narrowed. The ball went far out of her range. Her halo glinted as she sped to get there and hit it back just like how she’d seen Bendy do it. It went over his head and Bendy watched as it went far out of bounds. Alice smiled, flipping a piece of hair stuck to the side of her face. “See? I can hit it.”

“HEY!” A shout sounded. Bendy frowned. A monkey, disgruntled and with a welt steadily growing out the side of his head, walked up to them. A sailor walked up next to him looking just as peeved. “The hells the matta with ya?!”

“Ah great, you hit one of the Butcher Gang brutes.” Bendy sighed. “Look fellas, we didn’t mean ta hit ya with the ball. Just hand it back and we’ll make sure not to send it flying back towards your faces, alright?”

“Didn’t mean ta?! Knowing your ugly mug you probably meant to hit all of us instead! You’re just waitin’ for da opportunity!” Charley whistled. 

Edgar seemed to have come out of nowhere. He chittered and tied Alice up in spider web. She squealed. 

“Alice!”

“You want the dame back? Beat us in volleyball, two versus two.”

“Hey wise ass, ya know it’s just me and Alice here, right?” Bendy scowled and tapped his foot in the sand. “Who am I supposed to get for this if it ain’t her, huh?”

“What, is the wolf over there chopped livah?” Charley threw a thumb over his shoulder. Bendy looked back towards where he was pointing.

By the treeline but still on the sand was a big ole beach Umbrella. Underneath was a towel, a picnic basket labeled ‘Do not touch!,’ and Boris the Wolf. He was sitting on the towel. A bit of sunlight hit his foot and he pulled it back almost immediately, ears downcast. He grumbled as he took a bite out of a sandwich.

“That no good--! Can’t he read!” Bendy threw his arms up and started to stomp over. Then he paused. He’d need Boris for this match, or the Butcher Gang wouldn’t release Alice. He grumbled as he walked over with a bit less irritation then before and stood in front of Boris. He tapped his foot until the wolf looked at him. “Alright ya beach averse mutt, I need ya help out there.” He motioned his head towards the net. Charley and Barley were currently messing around with the ball. Edgar was sitting on the sidelines next to a tied up Alice, making sand castles. “You need to be my partner in a volleyball match ta get Alice back before those no goods end up doin’ somethin’ to her.” 

Boris whined, moving farther back on the blanket. “Oh don’t be like that! Come on!” Bendy walked over, grabbing the wolf’s arm. He tugged and he tugged but all he was doing was stretching the limb out. It snapped back to Boris and sent Bendy flying. He walked back, shaking the sand off. “Alright, alright! You can have the WHOLE basket if ya help me with this.” Boris’s ears perked up. “Now come on already, times a wastin!”

Boris scrambled off the blanket as he rushed to follow Bendy into the heat. Already sweat was pouring down his face as his tongue lolled.

“Well well well look who finally decided to show up.” Barley snickered.

“Cannit ya discount sailor, let’s dance.”

“But we’d lose if yee’d be dancin -- ow!”

“It’s a figure of speech ya moron!” Charley got into position as everybody readied up. He raised the ball. 

It arced high over the net. Bendy was able to toss it back. Boris was still panting, wiping his head off. He pulled out another sandwich from seemingly nowhere and started chomping down on it. Then he noticed a ball flying towards his face. Bendy seemed to pop out of nowhere, jumping and hitting it back over the net. He looked up at Boris, steaming pouring outta his head. “Hit the ball! Hit it! Over the net!”

Boris watched as the sailor skid to hit it. The monkey hit it just over to give it a boost. Bendy managed to hit it back over and scurried back, rubbing away the sand at his chin as the ball kept going back and forth and back of forth. Boris’s tail started to wag.

Alice was watching on the sidelines, following the ball as it went back and forth. Edgar was making a sandcastle beside her. He squeaked, tapping her on the shoulder to get her to look at it. She gave a tentative smile. “Yes that’s a very nice castle you got there.” He squeaked again, crossing his arms. Her brows rose. “It’s supposed to be a… palm tree?”

Bendy had fallen over in the sand, trying to run. Boris has just finished his sandwich and was busy smacking his lips. “BORIS HIT IT!”

Charley and Barley were already celebrating as the ball was falling. Boris stared at it. “Hah! Looks like we win pip--” Boris grabbed it in his mouth “--squeak?” It popped between his canines. The air let loose from it. He smacked and chomped before swallowing the rest of the ball. Everybody stared--even Edgar and Alice.

Bendy was the first to break the silence, wheezing. “T-That was…”

“The hell was THAT!” Charley fumed. “We win by default. That’s not how you play the game!”

“Yeah, and? Nobody won, it never hit da ground!” Bendy gestured, a big smirk on his face. “And we no longer gots a ball to play wit. Just let the dame go ya posers!”

Charley fumed but Alice was already walking over back to Bendy, freed from her restraints. Charley's eyes widened. “Wh-- EDGAR!”

Edgar squeaked before shrugging and gesturing to Boris. “Doesn’t matta she was practically ours ya nimrod!”

Alice giggled. Bendy slid up next to her. “So doll, got a reward for ya hero?”

She hummed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I do.” Bendy smiled wide, eyes closing expecting a reward. Alice walked past him and to Boris. She placed a peck on his cheek. 

Bendy’s eyes opened up. Boris’s ears were raised, a lipstick kiss painted on his cheek. His grin was big. “What?!”

“My hero.” She clasped her hands together, placing them under her chin. Boris stuck his tongue out at Bendy who only fumed in the background.


	10. Laughing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry tries to crack a few jokes for a change.

Henry had lost count of how many times he’d been to the safe house. Lost count of how many times he’d been through the studio. Upon waking up and finding himself back there, however, he decided to stay for a little bit longer than usual. He knew the safehouse had it’s limits. Soup kept dwindling and dwindling, and he knew eventually they’d both be driven out by the lack of nourishment. Honestly? He was just glad to have running water and a room sealed off and safe away from the rest of the horrors of the studio. Being here, he felt like he could forget about ever being trapped.   
  
But that was a depressing thought and lately he’d gotten the chance to tell himself to cheer up some, smile more and frown less. That’s what doctors always say, right?   
  
“Hey, Boris.” Boris’s ears perked up. Henry was walking down the hall as he stretched. He’d just gotten up from another long nap. If he hadn’t just looked in a mirror, he’d think the bags were finally vanishing from under his eyes. “I got a question for you.”   
  
The wolf tilted his head, ears flopping, foot tapping though it paused as Henry approached. The radio on the crate played the same chipper tune on loop. “Why is the ink anxious?” Henry sat down in the chair across from him, arms crossing on the table as he leaned forward expectantly. Boris only scratched his chin and shrugged, shaking his head. Henry grinned. “Because it’s in the pen and doesn’t know how long the sentence will be!”   
  
Boris snickered, his canines briefly showing even as his hand covered his snout.   
  
“What do you tell Joey when he won’t shut up?” Henry waved his hands out in jazz and scrunched up his face, jutting out his upper lip. “ ‘Joey! You drew it out too long!’ ”   
  


Boris started to wheeze. He put a hand over his muzzle.   
  
Henry only grinned wider, a hint of laughter in his voice. “Why does Alice always have a stick up her ass? Because Aleece the stick likes her!”

  
Even though no noise came out, Boris kept laughing and laughing. His chair tipped back as his leg straightened out against the table leg.   
  
“So one time we gave Bendy a car, but guess what we told him? Don't start anything!"   
  
Boris’s chair fell back on the ground but he wasn’t even fazed.   
  
Henry started laughing himself. The wolf’s laughter was contagious. The floor behind them was darkening. “Say, what did Alice say to Bendy right before he got her?”   
  
Boris finally managed to wink an eye open. His laughter died in his throat, his ears turned downward.   
  
Henry raised a brow. “Oh come on I haven’t even told the kicker yet.” The ink pulled and rose behind him, shaping and reforming. “She said ‘Halo there!’ ”   
  
Boris bolted. Henry watched and scratched his head. “Huh. I didn’t think it was  _ that _ \--”   
  
A screech sounded behind him. Henry turned his head around. “Ah, nuts.”   
  
And that was the first time Henry had ever heard the Benny Hill theme play in the studio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the shortest thing I write. Ever.
> 
> [Also if you don't know what the Benny hill theme is, give it a gander. It's the king of chase scene music.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MK6TXMsvgQg)


	11. Environment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the hell that was Joey Drew studios, you had to keep yourself sane somehow. Even if it means forcing a joke at your own expense.

If Henry had learned anything about having a flawless run, it was that he had to pay attention to his environment. Rubble and debris littered the studio. He had to step over boards, jump over ravines. Even rocks could be dangerous if he wasn’t paying attention. There'd been too many times, especially early on where one board or misstep would be his end. Whether that was hurtling down into a pool of ink, or into the clutches of the Ink Demon depended on where he was, what convoluted story Joey had decided to conjure up for him this time. Hands down the worst were his run ins with Alice when she'd decided to use him instead of Boris for parts, or she was tired of playing her little game of fetch and confronted her himself.

Honestly he sometimes wondered if she thought HE was the dog, and gathering bones was something animators and not archaeologists did. Although nothing beat ripping the inky, squelchy hearts out of living ink creatures. The first time he had to do that scarred him. The fact that he was used to it now told him he was just getting into the routine -- like clocking in for work each day. 

"Heh," he chuckled to himself. Speak of the devil. He grabbed the paper, slotting it into the machine and pulled the lever. It chimed with a 'cha-ching' more befitting a cash register than a clocking station. "One soul for your happy meal, that'll be $6.66," he mumbled under his breath, a dry smile over his lips. 

He sometimes wondered if anyone else ever got into these sorts of moods. The ones where you start joking about dead people and about to be dead people charging at you.

Henry stepped into the next room. The lights cut, and the TV’s up in the corners lit up. Alice Angel’s tune started to play. He hummed, grip light on his axe as he leaned it on his shoulder. He timed it perfectly, hurling the axe just as she popped up. The glass broke, her dialogue was cut off, and the tune instantly stopped playing. The lights turned off and then back on. Low and behold, the axe was still in his grip. The glass that he had shattered had morphed back to the typical shape it had usually taken whenever Alice had broken it herself. It just never seemed like he’d be able to hit her. He gave the ceiling a pointed look.

"Does this mean I still have to listen to her speech later?" He yelled. Nothing but his own voice returned to him, in broken up echoes that barely bounced off the floorboards. "Ok, but think about how nice it would be if it hit her vocal chords for once!" He shouted at everything and nothing, a hand cupped to the side of his mouth as he kept going. He knew Joey had a sense of humor, even if it was twisted, and he knew plucking at a few strings now and then wasn't probably the best idea but he had to stay positive somehow. At least, that's how he reasoned with it anyway.

Henry was still in what he'd consider the upper floors. He'd taken Alice's path, like he usually did -- anything to stay out of the ink a bit longer -- when the dreaded beat filled the halls. Like the footsteps of a predator or the beat of a war drum. Henry's eyes widened. The demon never appeared this early. He sprinted, head whipping to face the miracle station that he knew was in the middle of the hallway.

It wasn't there.

"Great... sick sense of humor it is." Henry kept running. He'd just gotten to the turn when his foot dipped a little bit into the boards. His eyes widened as he fell, catching a glimpse on what he tripped on.

A crack. There was a crack in the floorboards, and they'd slightly caved with his weight when he'd gotten near them.

  
He hit the floor hard, his back audibly cracking. The air was knocked out of him and he coughed, nearly choking on air as the Ink Demon rounded the corner. He approached, hissing, but paused as he looked down at the old animator. Henry was... laughing. Almost hysterically.   
  
“G-Good one, Joey!” The words caught in Henry’s throat as he coughed and guffawed. The Ink Demon’s aura subsided a little, unsure as he tilted his head to stare down at the man.   
  
“S-Step on a crack, break your mother's back! Guess I’m my own mother now!” Tears were streaming down his cheeks. His legs were unmoving as his chest heaved and trembled with each raucous howl.   
  
The Ink Demon’s aura picked back up as his smile widened and shivered. He raised a hand, claws shimmering and sharp.   
  
It was a painful run but a fond one to Henry. It was the first and last time he ever got Joey to cave for a joke.   
  
He wished he’d been humored a bit more. It’d been incredibly boring since then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to say on this one.
> 
> I know Inkdemonth has been over but I still want to finish all the days up. It'll take some time but I'll get there.


End file.
